Whenever she comes to meet, she leaves her stuff,
On my neck, she leaves her lips.
Don’t know which storm would rise when it came,
If you go, it always leaves me lifeless.
It is true that she asks me twelve times but,
Arma comes with it and Arma leaves.
When I do not come myself, the memory leaves itself,
In difficult life, such hope is left.
If given, I am sure about my life,
Every time an incomplete story leaves my life.
~ Anupam Shah
No comments:
Post a Comment